


Prisoner of War

by madrose_writing (mayghaen17)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden Love, Isolation, Magical Rebirth, Prisoner of War, Rebirth, Redemption, Reincarnation, Romance, prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayghaen17/pseuds/madrose_writing
Summary: He no longer looked like the monster they had defeated; the one that turned to ash before their very eyes as Harry's spell took precedence. And where there should have been nothing but a pile of disintegrated flesh, there was a man. One that was alive and human. The only thing he remembered was his name.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 31
Kudos: 234





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal Alpha love to honeysweetcutie even though I wrote this in a week and didn't tell her about it at all :)
> 
> Fancast for Tom Riddle will forever be Tom Hughes
> 
> Come on over to join/follow me on FB @madrose_writing
> 
> [I am the worst at replying to comments, but I read every single one that comes my way. Just know that your words have put a smile on my face. Thank you!]

****

**ONE**

Hermione tugged at her jacket as a shiver ran the length of her spine. The chill of the basement was always magnified during these sessions. For the most part, it was easy to ignore, especially when she cast warming charms on herself, but they were starting to wear off. Today's session was taking longer than normal and she wondered if the Unspeakables had found something this time. She'd find out later when they sat down to be debriefed. Refocusing on the book in her lap, she continued to read until it was over.

A groan of discomfort filled the air, bringing her attention away from her book. She closed it and set it down to watch as the Unspeakables lowered their wands and stepped away. Despite the frigid temperature of the basement, their skin shined with sweat and she could see damp spots on their robes. Whatever they had found, they had to go deep to get it.

The chair beneath the prisoner disappeared as did the magical binds to keep him in place. He slumped to the ground with another moan and Hermione looked away at the weakened form writhing in discomfort on the ground. The sight always churned her stomach. Prisoners were still humans.

Even _him_.

As she looked at the Unspeakables, her curiosity surged. "Find anything?"

She knew they would never tell her anything directly, but she could tell by the matching grim looks on their faces that they had and it wasn't good. They simply tipped their heads down and then made their way to the stairs.

She stared after them with a clenched jaw and fists balled up at her sides. It was annoying that she was never the first to know. She was the one who had volunteered to be placed in the safe house turned prison with the most dangerous wizard on the planet. She had thought that fighting alongside the same war and coming out with more knowledge than any of them, resulting in a victory would make them see her as something other than a child. But no. No matter what she did, they continued to treat her as such. She'd get them to see her as an adult someday. Perhaps even an equal. But that day was a long way off.

With a sigh she pushed her anger to the side and turned back around. She moved to the small cabinet off to the side of the room and removed the glass she kept there for interrogation days. She pulled her wand from her back pocket and willed a silent _Aguamenti_ at it. Once it was full of water, she approached the prisoner and set it within easy reach. His darkened gaze connected with hers before his head tipped in a silent thank you.

She turned away to pick up her book and plopped back down into her own chair so she could read until she was sure the Unspeakables had left. She should leave him be; let him suffer down here, but she couldn't. Her penchant to help those that couldn't help themselves apparently had no limit. It seemed to not only be extend to humans and beasts, but held true for monsters too.

When the familiar _crack_ of disapparation sounded above her, Hermione put the book on the seat of her chair and aimed her wand at man slumped on the ground before her. He was breathing hard from exertion, but he was no longer struggling with discomfort. The glass of water had a few sips missing so when she cast her spell to levitate him, she made sure to include the glass and then made her way upstairs. She continued on, her magic carrying him behind her as she continued to last bedroom at the back of the house. Carefully, she set him down on the bed and placed the glass on the nightstand. Once he was settled, she withdrew her spell.

Normally, she would just walk away, but this time, she was rooted to the spot. There was something different about him today. She could feel it in the air of the house when she first woke. That sense of _something_ had been keeping her on edge all day and seemed to be solidified by the Unspeakables pushing harder than before.

She'd seen him like this before; broken and weak. She had been his live-in prison guard since the Battle of Hogwarts. Even two months of seeing him every day wasn't enough to dull the shock. She was so used to the way he looked before. He no longer looked like the monster they had defeated; the one that turned to ash before her very eyes as Harry's spell took precedence. But where there should have been nothing but a pile of disintegrated flesh, there was a man. One that was alive and human.

A man with short dark waves, deep grey eyes, and pale skin that looked untouched by dark magic. And he was young. Something she couldn't come to terms with given she knew his backstory. That he had been born in the mid nineteen twenties. His birth year made him as old as her grandparents, but the photograph didn't reflect that. The man there was only a handful of years older than she was. Mid-twenties at the earliest if she dared to venture a guess.

The only thing he remembered was his name.

The Order had swarmed in before the majority of people could realize what was happening. They ushered him away and stored him in the farthest safe house they could find. They reinforced all the wards, effectively turning it into a prison and then met to discuss what to do. She wasn't surprised that most of the suggestions were to just kill him and be done. What _did_ surprise her was that it was Harry who suggested they keep him alive and see what they could learn from his mind. That he didn't believe the amnesia and he wanted to make sure that there was nothing else in store for them should they kill him in the end.

And she had surprised all of them by volunteering to take up residence here with him. But even after a very lengthy and not so mature discussion among the remaining Order members, no one else rose to take over for her. In the end, she convinced Harry that if he wanted to ensure he wasn't treated the way he treated _his_ prisoners, she was the best choice.

So the Aurors and the Unspeakables came often. They would bring him to the basement, bind him to the chair, and probe his mind until either he cracked or they did. Each time the sessions lasted longer and even after months of trying, they still came up empty handed. Either his natural defenses of Occlumency were off the charts or he truly didn't remember anything. Including how he came to be at the battle like this.

She kept waiting to catch him in a lie; for him to show his true nature and do something diabolical, but he never did. They existed together mostly in silence. He kept to his room for the most part, only coming out to eat or use the loo. She kept her wand on her at all times, even finding herself waking up with it clutched in her grasp, but he never gave her any reason to use it.

Hermione inhaled deeply through her nose and shifted on her feet as she finally snapped herself out of whatever thrall she'd just been under. As she turned away, she heard a soft clearing of a throat followed by, "Why are you helping me?" She slowly turned back around to face him, her arms crossing over her chest. "If I am who they say I am, you should just let me rot in the cellar when they're done."

Hermione swallowed hard and pinned him with a stare. "You _are_ who they say you are, but unlike you, I see value in all forms of life. No one deserves to be treated inhumanely. Not even you."

She watched as he pushed himself to sit up along the headboard, his eyes searching hers. "From what I gather, I would not reciprocate your notions."

She didn't hesitate to reply. "You would have killed me long before you even thought of making me prisoner."

His eyes narrowed slightly and Hermione was taken aback by the concern that furrowed his features. "Thank you," he breathed, making her go completely still with shock. "For not stooping to my supposed level of monstrosity. I remain forever in your debt."

She blinked owlishly and took a step back, her hand coming up to twist the thin silver chain around her neck. "I don't want you in my debt, Riddle. I just want them to figure you out so I can move on with my life." Squaring her shoulders, she turned and strode from the room, shutting the door behind her.

After a few adjustments to the wards beyond, mainly to alert her when he left his room, she took off to hers. Sinking into the worn chair in the corner, she tucked her legs beneath her and reached for the book on the table beside it. Turning to the page the little scrap piece of paper stuck out of, she used the words to drown out her thoughts while she waited for the Order to show up for the debrief.

* * *

It was well after midnight when the Patronus came. The silvery-blue stag nudged at her from where she slept on her bed until she was awake enough to hear Harry's message. As it disappeared, taking all the light in the room along with it, Hermione laid in the darkness blinking up at the ceiling as she forced alertness into her system. After only a few moments, she turned the lights on with her magic and went about sorting herself out so she didn't look so sleep ridden.

With time left to spare, she made her way to the other side of the house where Riddle's bedroom was. She strengthened the wards as she always did when she expected the Order and even added some new ones. On more than on occasion she had seen the curious fury cross the faces of the Order members as they looked down his hallway. She had even heard whisperings about how easy it would be to slip away and put an end to everything. After all he was only guarded by a child.

She sneered to herself as she put the final touches on the barriers and then smirked at her handiwork. She doubted any but a select few could mimic the spells she just cast. If anyone did end up acting out their murderous intentions under her roof, they were bound to see just how very adult she really was.

Satisfied, she made her way to the kitchen to get started on making a pot of tea. It was nearing on two in the morning and while she was sure no one would want tea, the manners her parents instilled in her refused to have nothing to offer guests. At the first signs of Apparition and a warming sensation down her back from the perimeter wards being crossed, she left the tea to prepare itself and moved into the living room.

Harry was one of the first to arrive. He looked better now that the war was over, but the moment he saw her, the lines of worry were back on his face. She crossed the room and into his waiting embrace. The two weeks since she had seen him last felt like years. She was so accustomed to seeing him every day that it felt strange to be apart. Same went for Ron, though she hadn't seen him since she had started living here. He had made his displeasure of her position very clear with a fine outburst of rage that had gotten him banned immediately.

Having lived together in the castle and then day in and day out on the run for so long, they had gotten fairly good at not saying much while letting the silence speak volumes. As usual, their exchange was brief as he highlighted the work he and Ron were undergoing as they trained to be Aurors. In return, she assured him that she was still good where she was and that things were fine.

It was Kingsley that entered through the door next followed by Unspeakables Benson and Rotham. Normally there was more people that came to the briefings, filling the little living room to capacity. It was either the hour of the meeting or the subject matter that kept it to the five of them. After everyone but Harry declined her offer for tea, they took their seats around the room and got down to business.

"We all knew he was a natural Occlumens, but he's far stronger than we anticipated. If we push any harder, it will either destroy his brain or kill him instantly," Benson began.

"We caught a glimpse of something today, but we don't want to risk any damage to our own bodies or minds. We nearly depleted our cores to see what we did," Rotham continued.

"What did you see?" Hermione asked, wanting them to get to the point so she could appease her curiosity and get back to bed.

"A memory," Benson replied. "It was wrapped under carefully laid layers of protection charms. The only thing we were able to gather from it was that it had to do with his time as an employee at Borgin and Burkes."

Silence settled over them and Hermione looked up at Harry. "That's it?" he asked. "Nothing else?"

"Not at this time," the other Unspeakable said.

"Then what was the point of having this meeting so late? You made it seem like it was urgent." Hermione was unable to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"Because it's time to think of a new plan. Legilimency isn't working, but it has proved that he is the Dark Lord reincarnate and his memories are suppressed. If we wish to learn how he came to be here as a shadow of his former self or what other plans we have in store, we'll have to try a different approach." Benson gave her a guarded look. "We thought it best to fill you in before we begin anything. We are not alerting the entire Order until we have more progress."

"What about Veritaserum?" Harry asked to which Hermione rolled her eyes. If only he paid attention in school.

Benson shot her a look before answering. "If he has prevented himself from accessing his memories, then a truth telling serum is pointless. He cannot tell us what he doesn't remember."

"What we need to do," Unspeakable Rotham said, "Is find another way to break down the barriers of his mind. There are some experiments being done in our department that we will be ramping up support for. For now, he will remain here with Miss Granger. Once the experiments have commenced, we will add extra security measures as he retains his memories."

It wasn't the breakthrough she was hoping for, but it was something. "Is that all?" she asked.

The Unspeakables exchanged a glance with each other and then looked at Kingsley. "For now, yes," Benson replied.

Kingsley nodded and rubbed at his temples. "Come to my office tomorrow morning so we can discuss our options. Hermione, I'll be by once I have more information."

She nodded and watched as the Unspeakables and Kingsley took their leave of the safe house. Harry lingered behind like he usually did, his gaze wandering down the hall that contained Riddle's room. "Out with it," she said when his eyes landed back on her.

"If he starts getting his memories back, I want you to leave."

"I can handle him."

"You can handle a lot, I know, but look what it took for me to defeat him, Hermione."

He didn't need to say it aloud for her to know what he was referring to. Her heart skipped a beat as she relived that moment she saw Hagrid carrying what she thought was Harry's dead body into the courtyard. His hand on hers pulled her back and she twined their fingers together. "I promise. If it gets to be too much for me, I'll get out."

"Thank you," he said, giving her hand a squeeze before taking their empty cups to the sink. "Ron says hello."

She gave a shrug of indifference. The last thing she wanted to do was think about him. So she did what she did best and changed the subject. "How's Ginny?"

"Still grieving," he murmured. "But I did get her to laugh yesterday."

"That's good."

He nodded and they lapsed into silence until he broke it with a yawn. "I'll see you soon, Mione. Be safe, okay?"

"I will be," she said, hugging him again. With a mutual sigh, they broke apart and he left without another word.

Once he was clear of her wards, she went to stand outside of Riddle's room and removed some of the spells she put up in the anticipation of a larger crowd. Satisfied, she went back to her own room and was asleep before she even hit the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

The first experiment was held less than a week later. Unspeakable Benson had arrived with Kingsley, Harry, and two others from the Ministry she didn't know. They had all gone down to the basement where she transfigured her chair into a bench to accommodate her and Harry. Hermione frowned at the way they used magic to force the potions down his throat. He never fought and she knew he would have taken them had they just asked him to.

Nothing happened. She wasn't sure if anything was supposed to happen, but everyone stayed for a few hours, Benson using Legilimency at varying intervals during his stay. Upon parting, they had explained the potions might take some time to work, but they would be coming by to administer a new dose the same day every week while checking progress every two days in between.

That had been weeks ago and now, summer was giving way to autumn. One night, in the middle of preparing dinner, she lost herself in the sight outside the window. As the wind picked up the colorful leaves and swept them across the lawn, she reminisced about her childhood. It was the first time she was celebrating her birthday without her best friends or her family around. The only company she did have was the person she had spent the last seven years of her life trying to destroy.

Last she checked, her parents were still in Australia and even though the best healers had been assigned to them, she had done too good a job. They were happy and healthy, but all memories containing her, their only daughter, were still gone from their minds.

At least Harry _and_ Ron had sent her birthday wishes in the forms of their Patronus' that morning. Harry's had been quick, but meaningful while Ron's had been a little on the forced side. Had the sound of his voice not been so comforting, she would have been livid that he even bothered. She chose to take it as a sign their friendship would mend.

So lost in her thoughts preparing dinner, she wasn't paying attention to the knife in her hand. It took a moment for her to even register the pain of the blade sliding into her skin. Her grip loosened on the handle and the knife clattered to the ground, but all she could do was stare at the blood pouring from her palm, paralyzed in the flashbacks of battle.

It took her a moment to realize it wasn't the room spinning, it was her body that was moving. She sucked in a breath at the sight of Riddle standing before her. She flinched as he reached for her hand, but he ignored it and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Holding it up between them, her blood pouring over their skin, he reached for the towel on the counter and wrapped it around her palm to staunch the bleeding. He pressed tight and stared down at her with worry in his eyes.

She averted her gaze, doing a double take at the sight of her wand on sill of the window. He followed her gaze and reached for it. The sight of her wand in his grasp made her tremble more than she already was as her body seized with fear. The only thought that seemed to run through her mind was that she was surprised he hadn't killed her already. She kept expecting a flash of green followed by an endless void of darkness.

She was not expecting him to press it against her other palm and curl her fingers around it while he pushed her two steps back to the sink. He leaned over to turn on the tap and then removed the towel to plunge the cut under the water. She hissed at the pain and clutched her wand tighter. When most of the blood had disappeared, she snatched her hand from his hand muttered the right spells to heal herself back up. She vanished the blood off her own skin, leaving him to wash it off himself the Muggle way. Something she watched with the urge to laugh.

It wasn't every day one witnessed the Dark Lord literally washing his hands of Muggleborn blood away with a clam demeanor; as if it didn't bother him in the slightest. The irony was that if he had known the truth, he would have never touched her in the first place.

He did a double take at the sight of her as he dried his hands on a different towel. "I fail to see the humor in nearly bleeding to death."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. She grimaced from bend of her palm. The spell might have knit the flesh back together, but it did nothing for the tenderness of having sliced it open. "It wasn't that deep," she said.

He gave a small shrug and stooped to pick the knife from the floor. He tossed it and the bloodied towel into the sink. She watched as he tossed the ruined food into the bin and proceeded to clean her blood from the counter with paper towels.

"Was there a backup plan for dinner?"

She shook her head, still dumbfounded at the display she had just witnessed. "I'm sure there's leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself."

"Do I need to be on alert all evening or can I assume that was enough of a wake-up call so that you shy away from being distracted while wielding a blade?"

It wasn't the words so much as the tone of jest and slight upturn of his lips that threw her off. She swallowed hard as she massaged her palm with her thumb. She'd need to take something for the pain before it got too intense. But before she could move to get anything, he moved and pulled out one of the chairs at the small table. "What are you doing?" she asked as he gestured toward it.

"Sit. I'll heat something up for you."

"No thank you, I'll just-"

"I insist."

Too stunned to argue, she gravitated towards the chair and sank down onto, watching as he selected something from the fridge and then go about heating it up. He set two plates on the table and then sat in the chair opposite her. She watched him pick up his fork and then stop with it halfway to his mouth as she spoke.

"Thank you."

His gaze lifted to hers and he inclined his head. "You're welcome."

Still in a daze, she went about eating the food before her, going through the motions on autopilot as her brain tried to deal with the fact she was dining casually with the Dark Lord.

* * *

It was the third night after the incident in the kitchen that she found herself waking in a cold sweat with only two hours having passed from when she last closed her eyes. The third night in a row that she felt the need for release building between her thighs. It was the first time she'd felt the ache since the Battle of Hogwarts; the last time being in the tent. Normally, like the first two nights, she was able to ignore it. She would recite classic prose or memorized passages of her textbooks until it faded away. By then, she was just awake and would putter around the house or take a long stroll around the perimeter for fresh air.

But no matter what she tried to get her mind off of it that night, nothing worked. With a heavy sigh, she planted her feet on the bed until her heels rested against her bottom. She ran her hand down the length of her body and slowly slipped it beneath the waistband of her lower layers of clothing. She stared up at the ceiling of her darkened room and bit her lip as her fingers sought the swollen nub of her clit.

She hadn't done this since she'd gone home for the summer after Sixth Year. Even then, only a handful of times before that. She whined softly as she went lower, discovering a fair bit of arousal already gathered at her core. She coated the tip of her index finger and brought it back to her clit, bringing forth a moan.

Even though the amount of times she had brought herself off had been low, it had always been fast and efficient. Just enough to appease the ache and allow her to fall back to sleep. This time, no matter what she did; hard, fast, slow; even inserting a finger into her core… _nothing_ worked. She knew the problem was her wandering mind, that it was working too hard to allow her any relaxation.

She tried to focus her thoughts to boys, but as she went down the list, the images went away quicker with each one. Krum and his gentle kisses, Cormac and his tongue in her mouth…even Harry and the warmth of his embrace. She even tried to think of Ron, someone she had longed for for so long, but she could only picture him with Lavender. Which led to the sight of Lavender's bloody and broken body and-

Hermione's groan was loud as the need for release was starting to become painful. Tears sprang to her eyes and she closed them in the hopes of squeezing them away. Another moan left her lips and she wondered if she was being too loud. Heat rolled through her body at the thought of _him_ hearing her moaning from across the house in the middle of the night.

Riddle's face came to the forefront of her mind. She pictured him standing in front of her, the feel of his hand holding hers. Another moan spilled past her lips and she shuddered as her body relaxed ever so slightly. She continued to picture his face and by the time she was coming, she had to bite into her other arm to keep from crying out his name.

Trembling more now than when she had started, she removed her hand, wiped it on her pants and lay as flat as she could while she fought for control of herself. She wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or check herself in to St. Mungo's to have her head examined. But she wasn't able to dwell on it long as the orgasmic bliss did the trick and lulled her into what she would wake to discover was one of her most restful slumbers yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

As September bled into October, the first evidence that the experimental potions were staring to affect Riddle came to light. From the Unspeakables' reports, the memories were still locked up tight, but the effort it took to get past the barriers weren't as hard to tear down. Each time someone arrived to invade his mind and test his resolve, they reported minute progress.

It was the second Saturday of October, the night of the weekly administration of the potions, that Hermione woke to a blood curdling scream from across the house. She leapt out of bed, wand clutched to her chest and bolted towards the noise. She didn't even pause before flinging Riddle's door wide and stepping into his room.

He was writhing on the bed, blood streaming from his nose, ears, and eyes as he screamed in agony. Fear made her shiver as she decided the best course of action, her mind leaping from one method to the next. She didn't want to make matters worse by doing the wrong thing, but she needed the screaming to stop before it got to her. As the writhing turned even more violent, she sent a stunning spell his way. After sending another, he fell slack against the bed only twitching slightly here and there.

Swallowing hard while her heart raced a mile a minute, she hurried to her bathroom for a Calming Draught. When she returned with it in hand, she didn't hesitate as she rushed to his side. She placed one hand under his head and lifted it before tipping the vial to his lips. His eyes opened for a second, his pupils blown wide in fright, but he swallowed the potion down. She held his gaze as the potion took effect; until his eyes closed once more and he relaxed into sleep.

She pulled away, the vial slipping from her shaking fingers and shattering upon impact with the ground. The adrenaline overpowered her system and after a staggering step backwards, she fell to her knees, shards of the vial cutting into her skin. She was in too much shock to feel the pain as she sat there next to his bed, quaking in fear.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was still dark when she was able to move. She used her wand to vanish the glass from the floor as well as the bits lodged in her flesh. But the fear and anxiety had exhausted her beyond belief and when she went to heal the small cuts, not much happened.

Slowly, she got to her feet and went back to her bathroom to wash up and see if she had a BandAid in the Muggle First Aid kit she had stashed in that beaded bag she kept stashed away. After cleaning herself up, she went to the kitchen to fill a bowl with water and grab a few clean towels before heading back to Riddle's room.

She set the bowl on the nightstand after soaking and wringing out the towel and then stood there, studying him. The sheets were twisted around his legs and she could see lounging pants, but he wasn't wearing a shirt. His chest glistened with sweat in the dim light that streamed through the lone window. She watched it rise and fall in the deep rhythm of sleep until she realized what she was doing and tore her gaze away.

The bed frame croaked as she sat on the edge of the bed as close to the headboard as she could get. She swallowed hard and reached over him to start wiping away the blood before it dried. Just as the towel touched his face, his fingers were there, wrapping around her wrist and yanking her arm away. His eyes were open and staring at her; the fear she saw there making her heart ache. It was wrong to feel that way, but she couldn't help it. Instead of saying anything, she masked her own fear and pleaded with her eyes, hoping that he would take her presence as trying to help rather than harm. He seemed to understand as he slowly let go of her wrist and settled back, his lids fluttering closed again.

Taking that as an invitation to continue, she tried again; this time, he let her. He was tense at first, as if he still didn't completely trust her, but as she continued wiping him up as best she could, he relaxed. When she was had gotten all that she could, the water pink from the repeated rinsing, there was still some that he would have to get the next time he bathed.

Hermione got to her feet before the thoughts of him under the gentle spray of the shower head could take over her thoughts. She wasn't fast enough to stop the blush that tinted her cheeks, but it was dark enough that she knew he couldn't see.

"Thank you," he breathed, his voice raspy from having screamed himself raw.

"You're welcome," she returned, making her exit. Once on the other side of the door, she leaned her back against it and took a moment to catch her breath.

* * *

She hadn't slept after returning to her room. Even laying in the dark or reading a book wasn't doing anything to calm her frazzled nerves and allow her to sleep off what happened. At some point, she had gone to the living room and turned on the television. One of the only channels that came through were old black and white movies, but she welcomed the mind-numbing distraction it provided regardless.

It was somewhere around the break of dawn that her lids grew heavy and when she next opened her eyes, the room was bright with sunlight and she was curled up under a blanket she didn't remember having when she sat down. She blinked and rubbed at her eyes until they adjusted to the light. The TV was off and the smell of coffee lingered in the air. After draping the blanket over the back of the couch and a good stretch, panic coursed through her as she went to retrieve her wand only to discover it wasn't there.

She jumped to her feet and began searching frantically. She ripped the cushions from the couch, got on hands and knees to check underneath; nothing. As she rounded the corner to race towards her bedroom, Riddle was coming around the other corner. The force of their collision had them stumbling and they latched onto one another to keep from falling down.

"Where is my wand?" she asked, her voice high with panic.

He slowly let go of her and she stepped back after detaching herself from him, stopping only when she bounced off the wall. He reached into the pocket of his lounging pants and handed her wand out to her. She snatched it and clutched it to her chest as her breathing heaved with relief.

"Why did you have it?"

"It was on the floor of my room. I was waiting for you to wake before I gave it to you."

She swallowed hard and shrank back as close to the wall as she could. "You should have just woken me."

"You would have seen me standing over you with your wand and screamed bloody murder," he said, a smile on his lips. "I think not."

"Fine," she said and slipped away, heading to her bathroom for a moment of peace. To get rid of the nerves, she locked herself in her bathroom and took the hottest shower she could manage. Once she was dressed in fresh clothes and all but her hair was dried, she went back into the kitchen to get something to eat.

He was at the table eating a bowl of cereal when she entered and the sight made her freeze for a second. In no mood to cook, she poured herself a bowl and joined him at the table.

"Last night-"

"I would prefer if we didn't talk about it," she interrupted, drenching her cereal in the milk.

"I think I was remembering something."

She paused the with spoon halfway to her mouth. "If you tell me, I have to report it."

"And if you don't, they'll see it anyway when they look."

She took her time chewing as she studied him. "Somehow I doubt they'll see anything unless you want them to."

She saw the flicker in his eyes that told her she was right, but she didn't press the issue. "I don't do it on purpose," he said after a moment. "If I could figure out how to let them see, I would."

She snorted as she toyed with the contents of her bowl.

"You don't believe me."

Her gaze lifted up and she sat back in her chair. "No, I don't. You know just as well as I do that once they have the information they need, they'll kill you. You're too cunning for that to ever be the case. I'm sure you're just biding your time until whatever plan you actually concocted can be put in place."

She fought to get her breathing under control before she allowed herself another bite. Swallowing it was tough and the mouthful felt heavy and thick as it slid its way towards her stomach. Dropping the spoon into the bowl with a sigh, she pushed it away from her and leaned back in her chair.

"Why haven't you ever tried to see inside my head?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I don't _want_ to see what's in there?" she asked, shivering at the thought of it. "People always keep their darkest thoughts to themselves and after seeing what you've shared with the world…" Her voice trailed off and she grabbed at her left forearm, squeezing down on the mark his loyalist of followers had given to her. "I've seen enough," she added.

The last reason was that she was rubbish at Legilimency, but she saw no need for him to know that about her.

"I've seen things," he said, his voice quiet. "When they invade my mind, it forms a connection to theirs. It's hard to control, but sometimes I find myself seeing that part of myself I don't remember; seeing it through their eyes."

Hermione watched as something akin to remorse took hold of his features for a moment. The sight made her breath catch.

"The monster they claim is a different version of me did terrible things. I don't know if I'm him from the past, sent forth to the future in search of change. Or if it was the work of some failsafe or whatever other reason it could be that I'm here as this version of myself. I would rather be dead than remember any of that."

For the briefest of moments, she believed him. But then, as image after image of what he'd done to her loved ones; to countless innocent lives she'd never know the names of, the feeling disappeared. She got to her feet, the chair scraping loudly against the ground. "It doesn't matter if you're a duplicate, a time traveler, or whatever; you'll always be Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. The Heir of Slytherin. Your name will forever be tainted by blood and bigotry and there's nothing you can do to change that."

"Then let them kill me."

"No." Her voice cracked with surprise. "You need to remember; need to learn exactly the kind of monster you were; the one you probably still are. And once you do, _then_ we'll get rid of you." She stomped towards the exit; pausing at his side. "And if you happen to spawn again, we'll keep doing this over and over until it sticks."

And with that, she stormed off, an idea already taking shape in her mind.

* * *

"You've gone completely mental."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she looked at Harry from across the room. "Harry-"

"No!" he snapped, doing all but stomping his foot at her. "It's bad enough that you won't leave this place, but this is taking it way too far. This isn't just a prisoner, this is-"

"I know exactly who he is, Harry!" she bellowed, taking a step forward. "I know what he's done; what he's capable of. But I want my life back. And that's not something I can have until he's gone. Knowing he's here will just eat away at me until there's nothing left. I'm just suggesting a way to speed up the process."

"By getting inside his head?"

"The potions are working," she said, turning her attention to Kingsley and Unspeakable Benson. "He has more bad nights than good nights and I can hear him through the walls. His barriers are dropping, but they're still having trouble. He trusts me because I'm the one that sees him day in and day out. I make sure he gets three meals a day and ensures that he doesn't rot in a cell or the basement. That trust might be what it takes to get past those barriers."

"Do you know Legilimency, Hermione?" Kingsley asked.

"I've read about it, but I've never been able to practice."

Harry slammed his fist into the wall next to the door, creating a hole in the plaster. "You can't seriously be about to let her do this, Kings!"

"Calm down, Harry. Hermione wouldn't have suggested it if she hadn't thought about the logistics from every angle. You should know that better than anyone."

Harry, face red and eyes full of anger, gave her one scathing look before nearly ripping the door off its hinges and storming outside. Kingsley sighed and excused himself to chase off after Harry before he did something rash. Once alone with Benson, Hermione was able to speak without fear of anyone yelling.

"I'm a pretty fast learning, Unspeakable Benson. It won't take more than a few lessons before I'll be ready to try."

He smiled at her hopefully words. "I believe we will be the judge of that, Miss Granger. I will come by every day this week and give you a lesson. At the end of the week, we'll see where you're at." He studied her for a moment. "Are you sure about this?"

"No, but it's worth a shot."

He gave a light nod and sat forward in his chair. "Would you like to begin now?"

She nodded eagerly. It wasn't as though she had anything better to do. And the faster she got through this part of her plan, the sooner she could start the next part of it. More determined than ever, she dove straight in and gave it her all.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

The progress was far too slow for Hermione's liking. It didn't help that she could only practice when Unspeakable Benson came around. And after that first week of assessing her skills, it was too hard for him to continue that schedule. It was frustrating to let that plan go when she had fought so hard for it, but she was nothing if not determined. She would just have to find another way to get into his head; to break down his barriers and make him see the monster he truly was.

Harry had criticized her for her wanting to see him suffer. He failed to see the difference in her being there to keep his treatment humane versus trying to get him to self-destruct. She didn't want someone else to dirty their hand or stain their cores to make him pay, but if his mind imploded from remembering his own wicked ways… Well, he had no one to blame but himself.

As October came to a close, Hermione became more and more frustrated. It was now going on six months in this place. Since the potions had been introduced, the nights she woke to his screams had frequented. Each night, she caved and went to him, giving him a Calming Draught to put him back to sleep. He only bled once or twice more; none of his episodes being as powerful as the first, but she helped him clean up when it happened.

And each time she did, she found it harder to ignore the fact that she was using it as an excuse to touch him.

To add to her frustrations even more, the nights where the ache between her thighs refused to let her sleep until taken care of had increased as well. The only thing that worked was picturing the prisoner down the hall. She would imagine that it was his thumb stroking her clit, his fingers plunging in and out of her core. It got to the point where she would need to get herself off twice before she could sleep and when she saw him during the day, she was hyperaware of his presence.

It seemed the more she caved, the more she craved.

It was making her jumpy, irrational, and zapping her concentration each and every day. It wasn't healthy, the way her body demanded that kind of attention without ever having someone paid any to it that way before. Aside from a few kisses in her past _years_ ago and her own hand, that was it. And the more frustrated she got, the worse it made her mood.

One day in the kitchen getting everything ready for the dinner she had planned, her frustration got the better of her and the glass casserole dish exploded in her hands when she bent to put it in the over. The contents of the dish as well as the glass itself splattered all around the room, creating one giant mess.

Wisely, Riddle approached with caution from the hallway leading to his room. He found her, just as soiled as the interior of the room if not more so, sitting on the floor. She was resting against the counter in front of the sink with her legs out in front of her, just shaking from her outburst of accidental magic. She watched him come to stand near her feet and after a moment of holding her gaze, he reached over her for her wand on the counter.

Too beside herself to care, she just stared at him as he muttered a slew of spells and flicked his wrist. Soon, in an impressive display of magic, all traces of the mess were gone; from her as well as the room itself. He set the wand back on the counter next to the sink and surprised her by holding his hand out for her to take. She did, her body shuddering at the contact of her skin against hers as he drew her to her feet.

With her free hand, she steadied herself by reaching for the counter behind her and drew a deep breath as she realized he still hadn't let go of her other hand. Her gaze lifted up and she inhaled sharply when he leaned in a fraction of an inch. He paused, but continued to hold her gaze and tried it again. She didn't move that time, whether from surprise or something else she refused to label, and just watched as the gap between them disappeared.

His body pressed hers back into the counter as their lips met. Every part of them molded perfectly to the other and there was a moment where they were still as a statue, suspended in time. But it only lasted the span of two heartbeats before the ache between her thighs sprang to life and the need for more took hold of both of them.

They moved as if sharing a single thought process. Their lips parted at the same time for one another, their tongues clashing in the middle. Her hand slipped from his only to fall to his chest, her fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt to keep him right where he was. Both of his hands fell to her hips, pulling them even closer and drawing a moan from her as he nipped at her lips.

Needing air, she tossed her head back only to have him move his kisses to her throat instead. She clung to him harder as he sucked at the skin just below her ear. Her hips bucked against his and the groan the action pulled from his lips soaked her knickers. Another moan tore from her throat at the realization and just as one of his hands moved to the snap of her jeans, the warmth of the wards being crossed licked up her spine.

She shoved him away and put as much distance between the two of them as she could. "Someone's coming," she hissed, fear of being caught made her heart race even faster. If it accelerated any more, she was liable to pass out. With a huff, she lurched forward to grab her wand from the counter next to him and dashed off into the living room to see who it was as she wasn't expecting anyone that night.

Hoping she didn't appear as disheveled as she looked, she took in the sight of Unspeakable Benson and a man in Auror robes she didn't recognize. She crossed her arms as she took in the sight of them and tipped her head to the side. "Tonight?" she asked.

"It's All Hallows Eve," Benson informed her. "It's the night the first wizarding war came to a close. We wanted to try again tonight to see if it triggered anything."

Powerless to stop them and with no reason to do so, she stepped aside and let them pass. At some point, Riddle must have slipped past without their noticing and get back into his room because that's where they found him. Hermione followed them down to the basement, forgetting her jacket in her room, thrown off by the unexpected session. She sat in her chair and stared at her feet as they got him into position and began their ministrations.

She knew the trembling was only in part due to the cold and that even if she had her jacket and warming charms, nothing would have stopped them entirely. And for the first time since coming to this place, she left the basement, unable to stomach the sights and sounds of the ordeal. Instead, she took leave of the house entirely, finding a soft patch of grass and lay flat on her back to stare at the stars until it was over.

* * *

The last of the sun had dipped below the horizon when Unspeakable Benson and the Auror took their leave. They had found her on outside on the lawn and told her that they had caught a glimpse of the night at Godric's Hollow, but nothing more. When they were gone, she got as far as the front door, her hand hovering at the door knob, before she decided she wasn't ready.

It wasn't until the last sliver of a waning moon began to rise that she found the desire to move again. This time, she filled a glass with water prior to heading down into the basement. He was sitting up with his back to the wall. Sweat shone on his brow, but enough time had passed that his chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His eyes cracked open at her approach and his arm trembled with exertion as he raised it to accept the glass.

She vanished the glass when he moved to set it on the ground beside him and then wordlessly cast a _Mobilicorpus_ to bring him upstairs. The mattress groaned from years of usage as she lowered him onto it and removed the spell. And like a moth to the flame, knowing it would do her in, Hermione stepped forward, unable to look away. His eyes were closed and while his body was still tense from the invasion of his mind, his face looked deceptively peaceful.

The urge to brush the fringe of his dark brown hair out of his eyes was far too powerful to resist. As she moved to do just that, his eyes snapped open, finding hers, and his fingers wound around her wrist. With a soft gasp of surprise, she felt herself being tugged forward and in the span of a few heartbeats, she found herself beneath him. Before she even had time to contemplate just how wrong this was, his lips were on hers and her body was arching up.

The fire they had ignited earlier in the kitchen was still there, but the explosive need to be urgently quelled had turned to a low simmer. The only thing that raced was her heartbeat and when her hand came up to rest on his chest, she found his trying to tattoo her palm in the same quick rhythmic tempo as hers. The feel of it a reminder that he was human; the thought of it making her shiver. The need for skin-to-skin contact had her tugging at his shirt until it was gone and she sighed into his mouth when he reclaimed her lips.

He sat back after a moment, looming over her in the darkness of the room, their only light source being whatever filtered in from the hallway, the door having been left. She held his gaze as he reached between them and unfastened the snap of her jeans. The hiss of the zipper giving way covered the one that left her own lips. A breathy moan sounded as his fingers ghosted her waist before curling around her jeans and knickers only to lower them down in one, tortuously slow descent.

She bent her knees so he could remove them and just as the sound of them hitting the floor reached her ears, he was guiding her legs apart and leaning in to taste her. As his tongue ran the length of her slit, she tossed her head back, the unrestrained moan pouring forth loud enough to fill the entire house. Her thighs quaked as they closed around his head, one hand stealing down to lose itself in his dark waves. The other came up to knead her breast through her clothes, plucking and rolling at the stiff peak of her nipple.

And just as she was sure he was going too slow, taking too much time with her, she felt it. It started low in her belly and slowly spread like a drop of water causing a ripple. She squeezed her eyes shut and cried out as the sensation ripped her apart in the most pleasurable ways. The releases she had experienced by her own hand were nothing and she wondered if they would ever be enough going forward. Especially when he continued to lap at her, extending the pleasure until she was pulling at his head to get him to stop.

He wiped at his mouth, his skin glistening where the light reached. He sat back, divulging himself of the rest of his clothes while Hermione sat up as best she could and did the same. Completely bare to one another, he lowered himself atop of her once more and kissed her, the taste of her arousal making her head spin.

He broke the kiss as he reached between them, their foreheads resting against one another. Hermione trembled as she felt him coat himself in her juices, priming him for entry. She forced herself to relax as he lined himself up and then slowly, he sank inside her body. Her hands gripped at his arms; nails digging in hard enough to draw blood. Her head lurched forward, her teeth latching onto his shoulder to stifle the moan of pain and pleasure that came from the barrier of her innocence being breeched.

He stilled as she stiffened beneath him, her inner walls clutching at him as they stretched to accommodate the intrusion. When she removed her teeth from his shoulder and slackened her grip just a touch, he pulled his hips back, nearly drawing all the way out of her only to push right back in. He repeated the action again and again, never picking up speed or depth until the pain had receded to a mild discomfort so pleasure could take precedence.

As momentum began to build, she looped her arms under his, her palms pressed firm to his back. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, grunting and groaning between laving her skin with nips and licks. Her legs rose to lock around his waist and she matched his rhythm after a few bucks of her hips. Fused together, she squeezed her eyes shut and gave in to the heights he pushed her to and before she knew it, she was seeing stars. He was right there to see them with her and when it was over, he simply collapsed on top of her, but otherwise didn't move.

As the high of their tryst began to dull, reality began to seep in. With a gentle push to his shoulder, he slipped out of her and created enough space for her to get up. She gathered her clothes and left without so much as a look at him or a word. She didn't even stop to shut his door; just continued to move until she was in the safety of her own room.

There, she vanished her clothes, not wanting to see any of those garments again. Gone, she leaned against the door and slowly sank to the floor. Hugging her knees to her chest, she succumbed to the numbness that wrapped around her mind. So she sat there, staring into the darkness of her room, waiting until she could decide exactly how she wanted to feel.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

In the wee hours of the following morning, Hermione had picked herself up off the floor and hauled herself to the bathroom. While she gave the water a minute to heat up, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her hair was a right mess, something that she would have to use both magical and Muggle means to fix. The rest of her looked the same except for the slight red marks on her neck, bloodshot eyes, and the faintest trace of dried blood on her thigh. Staring at the pink smear, she waited for the tears to come, but they never did. When the mirror fogged over, she stepped into the shower and scrubbed herself raw, getting out only when the water turned cold.

She spent the rest of the day avoiding him, something that proved to be rather easy as he only left his room when he heard her return to hers. Their plans didn't cross again until Unspeakable Benson and Kingsley returned three nights later for the next interrogation. Instead of going outside, she stayed upstairs in the living room, waiting until they came up to inform her the same thing they always did; no progress had been made.

Once they were gone, she went about her usual routine of getting a glass of water and taking it down to Riddle. He was sitting up when she reached the last of the stairs and she waited there, sending the water through the air. After a few sips, he nodded and soon, she was setting him down onto his bed, only this time, she stayed in the doorway to do so. The moment the mattress sank beneath him, she removed the spell, turned, and went right back to her room.

And so it remained for the next few weeks. In the few moments that she did see him after the sessions in the basement, she could tell that he wanted to speak to her, but he wouldn't make the first move. And seeing as how she had no desire to speak to him, they were doomed to be stuck in this endless loop of silence.

The chill of the oncoming winter storm had permeated the house, making every room cold and the basement as if carved of ice. Hermione went about casting heating charms throughout the day so neither of them froze to death. It took a lot out of her magical core, but it was worth it every time. Though even her skill level was no match for mother nature when the first snow storm came rolling in.

The howling of the wind from outside woke Hermione in the dead of night. She had gotten used to Riddle's screams being her wakeup call, but the wind was new and it left her shaking with fear. After calming down, she recast the warming charms, but by then, returning to sleep was out of the question. Rubbing at her eyes, wand still grasped in one hand, she made her way to the kitchen, only to stop short at the sight of Riddle staring at the flurry of snow from the window by the sink.

Their gazes met in their reflections in the pane of glass. He held it for a moment, probably waiting for her to retreat, but when she remained, he turned around to face her. Her bare toes curled against wooden floorboards as they stared, sizing one another up. The air in the room thickened with the tension and just as it started to suffocate her, he moved.

His steps were slow at first, hesitant as if he were expecting her to jump or hex him. But when she didn't, he picked up the pace and before she knew it, he was standing before her, reaching up to cup her face with one hand, the other finding her hip. She remained still, her breaths quick and shallow as his hand sank back into her curls, his thumb resting just beneath her chin, tilting her face up to him. She closed her eyes as his lips sought hers and after a few gentle presses, she surrendered.

His tongue slid along hers in a gentle caress. The kiss wasn't meant to rush or devour, it was to taste and discover. He was savoring the moment, savoring _her_ and the way he held her to him was almost too much to bear. It was too intimate, too real. But despite her mind screaming at her to hex him and run, her arms lifted, winding around his shoulders, wand clattering to the floor. One hand pressed against the back of his head to pull them closer still, her body intent on keeping him there.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered, breaking the kiss to take a breath.

Her lips parted to do just that, but instead of what she thought she'd say, the single word that left her mouth surprised them both. "No."

She felt a hint of a smile from him when his lips found hers again and then he was moving forward, stopping only when her back hit a wall. He reached down, grabbing hold of her legs and hoisted her up, pinning her with his hips. She wrapped them around his waist automatically, her long nightshirt bunching up at her waist as her hands grasping at his shoulders for purchase. One hand slipped between them and wasted no time in rubbing her clit over the lining of her knickers.

She keened against him and tightened her hold. Since Halloween, she hadn't felt much of anything. It was as if her brain had been stuck in a perpetual state of numbness from the ordeal. The need for release to help her sleep had been appeased in such a way it never resurfaced. But as he touched her then, it wasn't just her emotional floodgates that burst open, overflowing with the need to be sated.

With a wordless incantation, her knickers disappeared and they swallowed each other's groans as his fingers sank into the silken folds of her nether lips. She nipped at his bottom lip as he filled her core, his thumb brushing over the part of him that craved his touch the most. She turned her head, needing to breathe and with his cheek pressed firmly against hers, she squeezed her eyes shut and shattered.

He stilled, pulling away when she finished and she blinked open to see something flicker across his face. She narrowed her own eyes in question, her mind too addled to discern what it was she saw. Whether or not he was going to fill her in on what it was that caused that look, she kept him from speaking by freeing him from his lounging pants and wrapping her fingers around his length.

The way his eyes darkened and jaw clenched had her draw in a sharp little breath. It took a moment to get used to the feel of him against her palm, fascinated that he could be so hard and soft like velvet at the same time. She added more pressure and then slowly began to move her hand up and down, studying his face as ripples of pleasure manifested as shudders.

She felt the shift between them from one heartbeat to the next. The time to explore was coming to a close and his hand replaced hers. She moved it back to his shoulder, digging in like she had the last time. When he filled her this time, there was only a slight discomfort as she stretched around him, but after a few strokes to test the waters, it was only pleasure that she felt.

His thrusts were faster than they had been the last time, hitting deeper than before. Her hips bucked against his as she let her head fall back against the wall, her hand on the back of his head to keep his lips pressed to her neck. She cried out as he hit something inside of her, making her experience things she didn't know were possible. And judging from the stuttering of his hips and the grunts against her neck, it was doing the same for him. Already on the edge, he tipped her over by quickening his pace and after a few impossibly deep thrusts, they came together in a melodious stream of whispered nonsense.

They both trembled as they clung to one another, neither one ready to move. Even as he slipped out of her, their combined slick coating her thighs, he kept her there, pinned to the wall with her legs quaking around his waist. He kissed her again, gentle presses of lips to lips while they continued to catch their breath.

The decision to break apart felt mutual. He helped lower her safely to her feet and then stepped back so they could both straighten out their clothes. Without looking at him, she slipped out from the space between him and the wall to pick up her wand and get a drink of water. With a full glass in hand, she turned and made her way out of the kitchen, pausing only as a soft, "Goodnight," tumbled from his lips.

She dared a glance up at him from his place at her side and inclined her head before resuming her path to her room. Once beyond her closed door, she curled up on her bed, wand stashed beneath her pillow, and watched the storm raging outside the window. Only this time, the howling of the wind lulled her to sleep just as fast as it had woken her previously.

* * *

Two days later, Unspeakables Benson and Rotham arrived just as she was cleaning up after lunch. Riddle hadn't eaten yet, the pair going back to their routine of not crossing each other's paths. It hadn't stopped her from making something for him to eat, his plate currently in the fridge for him to get when she retreated to her room. The pair gave her a nod as they went to retrieve Riddle and as was her recent course of action, she remained upstairs.

Since the winter storms had frozen the ground and layered it with a blanket of gleaming snow, Hermione was relegated to the inside of the house. She tried to keep herself occupied with tidying up, but she heard every noise he made.

When it was over, she relaxed in her seat, her stomach churning with the threat of making her lunch reappear. As usual, the Unspeakables left without much more than a polite goodbye, one that barely acknowledged her existence. She nodded back at them as the pair took their leave and waited until they disapparated before making her move.

When she neared the end of the basement steps, she did a double take at the sight of Riddle already on his feet, using the wall as support. He slipped, nearly staggering to his knees, and the sight had Hermione quickening her pace until she was at his side. Instead of her magic, she placed herself at his side and draped his arm around her shoulders, encouraging him to use her for support.

It wasn't that he was heavy, it was that she was so small that made it difficult. However, the more steps he took the more the tremors ebbed and by the time they reached the top of the stairs, he was able to hold himself up. She gestured towards his room and as he made his way towards the bed, she retrieved a glass of water. At the last second, she grabbed the lunch she had prepared for him and returned to find him sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Thank you," he said as she set both items on the nightstand.

She inclined her head and after a moment of staring at one another, she cleared her throat and turned away.

"You called me Tom."

She had just reached the threshold, her hand curled around the frame of the door out of habit, but his words brought her to an immediate halt. She faced him once more and tipped her head to the side, brows furrowed as her mind tried to recall what he accused her of.

"The other night after you-"

Her eyes bulged as she remembered the way he had pulled back after she came the first time. The way he had looked at her with something she couldn't identify then, but she realized was disbelief and shock now. Heat crept up her neck as her arms came up to cross over her chest, her eyes dropping to the floor.

"It _is_ your name."

"Then why do you call me Riddle instead?"

She lifted her gaze, a slight scowl on her face. "It's not like I'm going to call you the Dark Lord," she snapped. "Or did you prefer Voldemort more?"

The shame that flickered in his eyes took her by surprise and for a second, she regretted being so callous. The regret blooming even more as he whispered, "I liked the way it sounded."

She cleared her throat and closed her eyes for a moment. "Yes, well, it won't be happening again. It _can't_ happen again."

He simply gave a nod and kept silent, but she saw the disappointment in his eyes.

"I mean it," she pressed, her face hardening. "You'll remember everything soon enough and when you do, you'll wish you'd never created that failsafe. You would rather give up your quest for immortality than ever defile yourself by sleeping with someone like me."

His expression hardened as he absorbed her words. "Because you're Muggleborn."

The fact that he hadn't used the slur was surprising enough, but the lack of malice and distaste behind it was even more jarring. She gave a nod while suffering from a momentary loss for words.

"And I believed that you and people like you were lesser because of it." He tipped his head to the side, a frown on his lips. "Then why give that part of yourself to me?"

"I don't know," she breathed, taking a step back. Originally it had been her plan. To cave to her body's demand for something more than her hand at night; to exact some kind of twisted revenge. She knew if his memories were ever restored, he would hate what he'd done. But now that it had happened again and her feelings had morphed into something she refused to deal with, she truly didn't have an answer.

His lips parted to say more, but Hermione wasn't willing or ready to speak on the matter. So she turned on her heel and left the room, slamming the door behind her with a bit too much force and walked to her own room where she stayed for the rest of the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

Soon November was on its way out, marking another month of her voluntary isolation. She longed for the weeks where she was too numb to feel anything. Since her last conversation with Riddle, Hermione couldn't seem to get a grip on her emotions. Her mind and her heart were constantly at war for control, but she refused to listen to either one, afraid of what they would have her do. But in her fight for ignorant bliss, her previous plans of aversion were thwarted at every turn. Whether she had been so wrapped up in her thoughts she constantly slipped up or he was ignoring their previous routine, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that one of them was determined to have a conversation, one she knew couldn't be avoided forever.

Finding it easier to distract herself by doing things the Muggle way, Hermione tended to wash the dishes by hand at the end of each night. She had left without finishing her plate as Riddle entered the kitchen sooner than she had anticipated, only coming back well after nightfall to clean up. She would have left it for the next day, but the idea of waking up to a sink full of dirty dishes wasn't sitting well with her.

She had just begun to fill up the sink, her eyes glued to the snow falling in slanted sheets from behind the frosted window pane. After a moment, she felt something stir in the air and all the hairs on her body stood at attention. She refocused her eyes and found her gaze locking with Riddle's in their reflections. She went still as he moved towards her, the only movement being her teeth sinking into her lower lip as he pressed himself against her back.

One arm snaked around her waist while the other reached for the tap and turned it off. She closed her eyes and leaned into him just a fraction, her body beginning to tremble slightly at the knowledge that a part of her craved his touch. He moved her hair off of one shoulder and leaned in to bury his nose into the crook, the sound of his inhale against her skin making her shiver.

"Riddle-"

"I remember everything," he whispered, his breath warming over her skin.

Hermione hadn't thought it was possible to be any stiffer. For a brief moment, she thought she might snap in half. "E-everything?" she breathed.

His lips lingered against her skin before he nodded, the motion bordering on timid. "The person I was was horrible and cruel. I was drunk on power and craved attention because I never got any when I needed it most. I was refused by the man who fathered me and abandoned by the woman who birthed me. My family would have rejected me for my soiled blood, just as I sought to do the same with those I deemed even more soiled than myself."

Hermione found it hard to breathe. He remembered. He was no longer Tom Riddle, prisoner of war, he was Voldemort with all the memories intact. Her breathing became shallow and rapid with panic at the thought of what he would do to her. If he wanted to, he could kill her, and in this position, she was quite powerless to stop him.

"But I don't feel the same," he continued. "I remember what it was like growing up in that orphanage. I stole; I manipulated and abused nearly everyone I came in contact with." There was a brief pause and she felt him tense behind her. "I was six when I made my first kill." His voice was quiet, but Hermione let out a small gasping cry as her eyes shut tight. "A rabbit in the gardens, eating what we had painstakingly tried to grow to supplement the lack of funds."

Her stomach lurched as hot tears tracked down her cheeks, but she found herself rooted to the spot. All she could do was stand there in his arms, gripping the sink hard enough to turn her knuckles white, and listen to him regale her with his murderous memories.

"I felt nothing. He was taking food from our table, but when the Madam saw what I had done, I was the one punished. It was the first time she had spoken to me in weeks. The more I acted out, the more attention I got. And after I lashed out at those that struck first, like I did to that rabbit, I realized fear was a much better way to garner attention. Fear made me powerful; made things happen. People told me I was dark and strange so I clung to those words like armor, determined to do something great with them instead of cower like the world wanted me to."

"Please… If-"

"That isn't me anymore," he interrupted, his arm around her waist tightening just a fraction; not enough to scare her, but enough to reminder her that it was there. "That feeling of wanting to watch everyone suffer as I had is gone. The thought of hurting someone whether I do it myself or ask someone else to dirty their hands makes me ill."

Hermione's mind was buzzing, his words playing round and round on a loop in her mind.

"I blame you, Hermione," he whispered, his nose nuzzling the skin right behind her ear, the sound of her name from him making her whimper. "Of all people, you should have been the one to want me dead. You had every reason to let me rot in the cellar; to let them turn my brain to mush, or lock me in that room and have me starve to death. But you didn't," he said, his voice cracking just a tad, making her freeze again. "You cared for me when you didn't have to. When you _shouldn't_ have. You took something from me by giving me a piece of yourself and now that it's gone, I never want it back."

Hermione's sob bordered on a moan as he lowered his hands to bunch up the skirt of her dress. If she gripped the counter any harder, she was sure it would start to crumble.

"All I want, Hermione," he whispered, his teeth clamping over her earlobe as his hand stole down the front of her knickers. "Is you."

Knowing words would be impossible, she simply nodded and leaned back into him. One arm lifted to lay atop his forearm, holding on as he drove her mad with slow circles around where she craved him most. But she needed more and didn't have the energy to wait. Her body felt as though she were standing on the precipice of a volcano, the heat rising from the center of the earth to burn her alive. Taking the hint when she ground her hips backwards, he withdrew his hand.

She let go of her hold on him and the counter so she could push her knickers down her thighs. Once they got past a certain point, they pooled around her ankles and she leaned as far forward over the sink as she could manage. Behind her, Riddle was getting himself ready and before she knew it, he was lining himself up and sliding home.

They both groaned in unison, the angle allowing her to experience the feel of him inside of her in a whole new way. This time, he didn't pause for her to stretch around him. Somewhere during his speech, her heart and her mind had drawn a truce and began to prepare her body for what they knew to be inevitable. He said he remembered, that he had changed, but he hadn't apologized. It was no use trying to comprehend what exactly he meant, because after Riddle quickened his pace, grabbing onto her hips for purchase, the only thing her mind could focus on was the need for release.

The keening moans, the sound of skin slapping skin and the squelching noise between her thighs made for a lewd melody that could be heard through the entire house. All of which spurred them both on as she continued to grind back against him with each thrust in the hopes of getting him deeper.

She cried out as she slipped forward on the counter, the new depth being just what she needed to push herself over the edge. The orgasm tore through her like the howling wind of the storm outside and took her breath away all the same. Riddle groaned with delight as she squeezed him tight, making sure she didn't lose him while she lost herself. Instead of stopping then with his own release, he picked up the pace even more, determined to bring about her second little death right on the heels of the first one.

He reached for her, pulling her as far back as she could without him falling out. His arm snaked up to rest between the valley of her breasts and she twined her fingers with his, holding him there. She could feel her heart racing beneath her chest and wondered if he could feel it too. And before she knew, she was screaming into the void of pleasure again, taking Riddle right along with her.

With barely enough time to compose herself, Riddle was spinning her around, leaving a wet streak across her backside. Facing him, he cupped her face between his palms and leaned in to capture her lips. This kiss was meant to devour, to consume every last bit of her there was to have. And even when her lungs burned with the need for air, he kept going. Hermione tore her lips from his, angling her head to the side when she couldn't take it anymore and her inhale was sharpened when he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist.

She clung to him as he carried her away from the kitchen and down the hallway to his room. Having had time to catch her breath a little, she didn't shy away when he kissed her again before setting her down on the bed and then crawling in after her.

* * *

Her eyelids had never felt heavier as she laid beside him. They had spent the past few hours getting to know every square inch of one another until they had collapsed in a sated heap, barely able to lift a finger. But despite their recent escapades, Hermione had no intention of sleeping next to him. Not when they still had things that needed to be discussed.

"It was a failsafe."

Hermione's eyes stung as they widened. "What was?" she asked, her voice a little on the sluggish side from exhaustion.

"My appearance on the battlefield in this state."

She sucked in a breath before asking, "You know what happened?" She felt him nod from beside her and with great effort, she turned to look at him, holding the sheets tight to her chest as she laid on her side, propping her head up on her other hand. "What was it?"

"An incantation from a book rarer than the one I discovered Horcruxes in. It spoke of preservation and resurrection. A way to combine the two. It was before I found the locket."

Hermione watched his face remain impassive as he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling with one arm tucked under his head. She kept quiet, wanting to hear everything he had to say before she replied.

"All it entailed was a few drops of my blood in a vial, preserved under a specific stasis charm. I carried it with me at all times. It was hard to track down after being struck with my own Killing Curse, but I managed." The apple of his throat bobbed and she tried not to grimace at the mention of the murders of Godric's Hollow. "The purpose of the spell was that, if all my Horcruxes were ever destroyed, I still had one last chance. A way to come back and start over.

"I said the incantation while preserving the blood and then needed to repeat it after breaking it open. In the courtyard, when the curse and the spell hit me as one, it shattered the vial so I repeated the incantation. It is meant to reincarnate the body at the exact age of which the blood was preserved as well as the memories from both past and present. I hadn't considered that it would lock the memories up tight. I may never have remembered if someone hadn't always been trying to get me to."

"What about all the damage the dark magic did?"

"Gone with my resurrection. It was truly meant to be a fresh start."

She studied him as he turned his head to face her. She could see in his eyes how desperate he was that she believe him. She wanted to, but there was still a part of her that only remembered the horror he had wrought. Thoughts of what he would have done had it been Harry who died ran rampant in her mind, pushing her away from him a little.

"I know it's far too late, Hermione, and that saying it now means very little, but I'm sorry. Sorry for everything you've had to give up because of me. Sorry that-"

"Stop," she whispered, nearly choking on the word. "I don't want to hear your apologies. Not now," she breathed, shaking her head. "Maybe not ever."

He inclined his head, watching as she slid to her feet, the sheet staying behind on the bed. She slipped her dress back over her head and left without another word. On her own bed, she curled into a ball beneath her own covers and wept over nothing and everything all at the same time.


	7. Chapter 7

**SEVEN**

Hermione had never felt the holiday season approach with such a feeling of unease before. Even when they were on the run the year before and they spent Christmas being attacked by Nagini, she still had hope. Hope that everything would get better. But now, as the month of December began to pass in a blur, Hermione felt utterly hopeless.

If possible, they had done even less talking since the night of his confession, but something had definitely changed. She might not have let him apologize, but she felt it in him every time she saw him; saw it in his eyes every time she held his gaze. They had even gone from spending hardly any time in the same room to always being in each other's presence. They ate their meals together, watched whatever came in on the television, and spent an awful lot of time doing the one thing that required the least amount of talking.

But it wasn't just when they laid beside each other in the after math that Hermione could tell he had changed. It was the little things. The helping her prepare their meals and then cooking right alongside her without even looking at her wand. The way she would read until she passed out on the couch and would wake up either swathed in a blanket or to him picking her up to take her to her room. It was the only time she ever allowed him to pass through her wards and he never stayed. He would simply place her on the bed and leave right away.

It was the domesticated life she had once pictured for herself. The one she craved more and more since as the oncoming threat of war became increasingly worse. Which didn't help the inability to let her mind and heart be at peace with one another since the man she was playing house with was the reason of her worst nightmares. He was the one she and everyone else had worked so hard and lost so much to defeat. But now he was also the one that she looked forward to seeing from the moment she opened her eyes. The one her heart skipped a beat for every time she felt his touch.

And now, a holiday representing joy was quickly becoming one of dread. With each passing visit from the Order, Hermione knew it wouldn't be long. Knew that they wouldn't want to keep him alive forever and after eight months of nothing short of torture there weren't any results to hold their interest of pursuit. The thought of putting an end to the madness and sending him to the grave he had always sought to avoid now felt wrong.

Having him killed felt wrong.

Admitting the feelings she tried to avoid felt wrong.

It was as though whatever way this ended, Hermione's heart was doomed to break. If the Order sentenced him to death, she would only have memories to look back on. If they let him live, a slim, unrealistic fantasy, they would never let her stay with him. To do so would mean a different kind of heartbreak; the one brought on by having everyone she loved turn their backs on her.

It was the a few days before the holiday that a silvery stag delivered a message in Harry's voice, informing her that the Unspeakables weren't coming over for the administration of Riddle's next dose, but that the Order would be coming by the day after Christmas for a meeting.

On Christmas eve, knowing her anxiety was too high for sleep, she sought out Riddle's bed. But as much as she wanted to drift off beside him, she wasn't ready. Doing that would mean something; would force her to admit things that neither of them were ready to face. So she went to the living room and read until the book slipped from her hand and her eyes were too heavy to pry back open.

When she woke, it took her far longer than usual to remember where she was. The safe house was no longer a drafty little space filled with run down furniture and outdated appliances, it was a winter wonderland complete with a fully decorated tree, a fire crackling in a fireplace where the television used to be, and too many other things to absorb in one pass. She rubbed at her eyes, her jaw unable to close from the surprise of it all.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before she noticed Riddle leaning up against the wall that led to the kitchen. He was watching her with an expression that made her tear up instantly. Too stunned to move, he approached her and she swallowed hard as he sat beside her on the couch. She looked down to where he was holding her wand out for her to take and looked back up at him with a narrowed gaze lacking in anger.

"You did this?" she breathed, treating her wand as if it were fragile when she took it from him. He nodded and gave her the smallest of smiles. " _Why_?"

He shifted so that he could draw her over his lap. She left her wand on the cushion she'd been on and straddled his waist. He looped one arm around her back as the other reached up to brush her tousled hair from her face, tucking it behind her ears. "Because when they come here tomorrow, I want you to have something to remember me by. Something other than the darkness."

Hermione's vision blurred as the storm of emotions came together to rain down her cheeks. "Riddle-"

He cupped the side of her face as she choked on a sob and gently brought her forward to capture her lips. The contact was brief, but neither pulled away, choosing to let their foreheads rest against one another. Hermione's hands rested on his chest, her fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, holding tight as if to never let go.

"We both know what they're going to say, Hermione. They were never going to let me live. It's a wonder they've kept me alive this long having made no progress."

"They can't," she whispered, tears streaming down in rapid streams. "I won't let them. There has to be a way-"

He cupped her face in both his hands and pushed her back so he could hold her gaze. "I deserve death," he said, his voice low. She trembled in his hold and tightened hers. "I deserved it long before I met you. I spent all this time trying to avoid it; doing things that turned me into a monster."

"But you're not a monster," she said, her voice laced with agony. "Not anymore."

"Because of you," he replied, his thumbs wiping the tears from her cheeks. "You're the only one who will ever think that." A whine tore past her lips as she tried to hold back another sob. "You've made me realize that in order to be the man you deserve, I need to atone for what I've done. If that means death, then I'm ready to accept the consequences of my actions."

"What about what I need?" she asked, pulling away from his touch and leaning back.

"You need someone who doesn't constantly pull you back. You need someone who will strive to keep pushing you to greater things. That isn't me. Even if you could convince them to let me live, we could never be together. They would shun you. I'd never be able to live with myself if I was responsible for taking everything you have left." Hermione saw the glass-like shine in his eyes and it renewed a fresh wave of her own tears. "I deserve death, Hermione. It's you I don't deserve."

It was everything they had been avoiding for the past few weeks. He had even said what they had both been feeling without actually saying the words. Unable to hold off any longer, she leaned in again, tears flavoring their kiss as she sealed their lips together. Their hands and lips were everywhere; touching, tasting, needing more as if stopping would be their mutual undoing.

Hermione vanished their clothes when the idea of moving from his lap to take them off seemed impossible. As soon as they were bare to one another, Riddle lined himself up so she could sink down upon his length, inch by inch until there was nothing left to take. With hands on his shoulders to keep from slipping off, she began to flex her hips. It took a minute to find her rhythm, but when she did, it sent them both the fast track to pure bliss.

It wasn't until she slumped against him after giving each other their all did she realize it wasn't just her tears that wet their faces. With the last of her strength, she pulled back to see he had shed a few of his own. The sight stole what was left of her breath and for the first time since being at war, her heart and her mind were in complete agreement with each other. No truce needed.

It was just a cruel twist of fate that it no longer mattered.

* * *

It was mid-morning when the Order came to crowd the living room of the safe house. Hermione had managed to pull herself together after another breakdown getting ready for the day. She thought she had put enough silencing charms to drown out her anguish, but one look from Riddle upon finding him in the kitchen told her otherwise. But instead of coming to her side to console her soured mood, he wisely stayed away from her. Seeing him was hard enough; touching him would have made her crumble.

And as she sat there, listening to the Unspeakables and Aurors present their case, going over everything they had manage to get from Riddle, he was all she could think about. She was sitting on the couch, in the same spot they had spent most of the previous day joined as one. Where she had cried over the upcoming death of the Dark Lord. The startling realization that the people around her had the power to tear her world apart, she spoke up.

"Hasn't there been enough death?" she asked. "Why add to it if we don't have to? Surely there's a solution to our problem that doesn't involve murder."

Of all the gazes that landed on her, Harry's was the most scrutinizing. She refused to look back at him, knowing if she did, he would know. Silence washed over them, thickening the air until Hermione felt like she was being suffocated. It was only Unspeakable Benson's voice that allowed her to take a breath again.

"A noble thought, Miss Granger, but you would do well to remember that all the death we've had enough of was caused by him. It might not have been by his hand, but blame still resides with him."

"He deserves to die, Hermione," Harry said, the tone of his voice causing her to look at him. The words made her shake, having heard the same thing from Riddle, in the very place she sat just twenty-four hours ago.

"I'm not trying to dismiss anything he's done," she said, forcing herself to remain as neutral as possible. "But the worst is behind us, Harry. It's over now. He doesn't remember anything." The lie felt heavy on her tongue and she swallowed hard. "If you truly believed killing him would be for the best, you would have fired the Killing Curse yourself."

Something flickered in Harry's eyes a moment before he turned his gaze away from her. He rubbed his palms on his knees and shook his head. "Just because I didn't want to stain my core doesn't mean he deserves a second change."

A murmur of agreement rippled throughout the room and Hermione's nails dug into her palm to keep from doing something rash. After a bit of discussion that Hermione only heard bits and pieces of, she realized everyone was staring at her again.

"Is there something you had in mind?" Benson asked her.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep calm as she said the first thing that came to mind. "Clearly he's already suffering from memory loss. Maybe we just take away what's left and give him a new life elsewhere."

"He would still have magic," Kingsley said, looking at her with a frown.

Before the angry looks her way could escalate into anything further, Benson spoke again. "There is something we've been working on to suppress magic. Something we have been implementing with certain former Death Eaters." He gave Hermione a small nod. "I see the reason in Miss Granger's want to stop the cycle of death. Perhaps we can reconvene in the new year and decide then how best to put the matter behind us?"

Hermione nodded, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. It was a small sliver of hope he was offering, but she had already latched on and refused to let go.

"I suppose," Kingsley said, getting to his feet, a signal the meeting was over. "Happy Christmas everyone," he added before taking his leave.

Harry was the last to go and Hermione braced herself for his reaction to her suggestion. But he only stood there, staring at her as if he couldn't figure out what to say first. After a heavy sigh, he reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze. "Happy Christmas, Hermione."

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

And just as he disapparated from the grounds outside, Riddle was there, wrapping an arm around her waist, giving her the strength she didn't know she'd lost.


	8. Chapter 8

**EIGHT**

Hermione didn't tell Riddle what was said during the meeting and he knew better than to ask. The dread Hermione had been experiencing with the holiday approaching only intensified as the end of the year came hurtling towards them. In a state of perpetual panic, there was only outlet that silenced her thoughts and allowed her to breathe. But if Riddle had any complaints about the increase of which they spent engaged in carnal pleasures of the flesh, he never voiced them.

It was the day before New Year's Eve that even he couldn't get her mind to settle. After a failed attempt at getting her to relax, her frustration keeping her from reaching the release she was so desperate for, Hermione lost herself into household chores she had been neglecting. It was just before lunch when she was staring at the snow on the grounds beyond the window of the kitchen. It had been a few days since the last storm, but the snow was still a thick, sparkling blanket of white; untouched by the lack of visitors.

She caught his reflection in the mirror and then turned to face him. "I should make a cake."

He frowned, her words not being what he expected from her. "Why?"

"It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it?"

The skin beneath his left eye twitched as the rest of him tensed. "It is."

"Everyone should have cake on their birthday," she said, pushing away from the counter and taking the few short steps to the fridge. "Do you like chocolate?"

"Hermione-"

"I'm partial to vanilla myself." She paused before leaning down for the eggs. "I could do a swirl."

He was there before she had even righted herself. He gently took the items she had grabbed and put them back on the shelf. He steered her away from the fridge so he could close the door and stood there, face-to-face with her, holding her hands up to his chest as he spoke. "I don't want you to make a big deal out of it."

"Why not? You made Christmas a big deal for me. Why can't I make a cake to celebrate your birthday?"

"Because it isn't worth celebrating," he said, his voice tight.

She saw that he wanted to say more, but there was no need to voice the rest out loud. She knew exactly what went unspoken. "Well it is to me."

For all they knew, it would be their last day together.

"It's just another day. One that getting to spend with you makes it better than all the previous ones." Her nostrils flared as she looked up at him, but not in anger. He placed her hands on his chest and laid one is over hers, the other rising up to cup her neck, his thumb brushing along her jaw. When she softened a little, his lips curved gently; the sight of his smile still rare and foreign to her.

"We could run away," she breathed, her voice so soft she wasn't sure he would hear her. "We could leave right now and by the time they found out, we'd be long gone."

"I won't let you get labeled as a traitor for me, Hermione."

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. She knew if they were to run they would be found eventually. A part of her didn't care. She shook her head and bit back a sob. "We could-"

He silenced her in the way that had always proved to be most effective. After sealing their lips together, he waited. Waited until she relaxed and wrapped her arms around his neck so they could be flush against one another. Only then did she part her lips in invitation and greet his tongue when it sought hers. His other hand had found its ususal place on her hip and slid back until it was beneath her jumper. His touch delivered a welcomed dose of heat to the length of her spine as he stroked it with a firm hand.

It was these moments she had come to crave. The ones where he held her as if they were only two people left alive. The ones where the pulls and nips of their lips were meant to chase away all the anxiety storming in her belly. The ones where he was the air she needed to breathe and if they clung to one another as if life itself depended on their proximity.

But fate decreed that she needed a lesson in the fact that nothing good can last forever.

She felt the shift in the air a moment before chaos erupted. The hairs on her body stood on end at the same time her eyes snapped open only to lock onto familiar emerald ones over Riddle's shoulders. She barely had enough time to break away from him before the first curse left Harry's wand, striking Riddle in the back.

She shrieked as he went down, pushing her back against the counter in the process. "Harry! Don't!"

He turned his wand on her next, both of them breathing hard. "Tell me I didn't just walk in here and see him with his hands on you, Hermione!" he snapped. "That you weren't _kissing_ him!"

Riddle groaned from where he had fallen on the ground. There was a trickle of blood running from where his head had cracked against the floor. The urge to run to him was strong, but her need to reign in Harry's anger was stronger.

"Hermione!"

She jumped at the venom of his voice as he said her name. "Harry, please. Just let me-"

"This is why you want him alive, isn't it?" he asked, his voice cracking with betrayal. "And if you got your way, you'd what, be with him? I fucking told you being here wasn't good for you!"

"Stop, please!"

"When did it start?"

"Harry-"

"Answer the question, Hermione!" he raged, his voice louder than she had ever heard it before. "How long have you been spreading your legs for Voldemort?"

"That's not who he is!" she screamed back at him, taking a step forward. "Not anymore. He's changed, Harry!"

She realized her mistake far too late; that she had let everything slip by trying to get him to see reason. There was nothing she could do to prevent him sending the stunning spell at her, making her stagger back into the cabinet as she crashed to the floor. She opened her mouth to beg for him to listen, but another spell hit her and the kitchen disappeared.

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure if it was the arctic temperature of the basement or the use of a spell that woke her, but when she opened her eyes, that's where she was. She was kneeling on the floor across from Riddle where he sat for all his sessions. He was also on his knees; their hands bound behind their backs. It was the lack of anything to keep them from talking that had her suspecting the use of _Silencio_.

Riddle was sagged against his restraints and looked like he had been put through the ringer already. Blood dried on his face from where he had gotten cut earlier. But the most jarring sight in the room was that Harry was no longer alone. Those that joined undoubtably dole out her punishment were Kingsley and Unspeakable Benson.

"I always had my suspicions that his natural Occlumency was part of the problem. Sometimes even the strongest of Legilimens or potions is nothing when faced with a mind that doesn't want to be breeched," Benson said. "He should be more forth coming this time."

"We need to look inside Hermione's head too," Harry said, looking anywhere but at her.

She struggled against her bonds, trying desperately to get his attention. "If this is true-" Kingsley started.

"It is," Harry interrupted. "I know what I saw, Kings."

The Minister gave a nod and then faced Hermione at the same time Benson faced Riddle. As their gaze connected, her mouth hung open in a silent scream. Her thoughts raced by at a dizzying speed; far too fast for her to even attempt to keep anything from Kingsley's prying mind. So she sat there, tears streaming down her face as he saw her forbidden trysts with the Dark Lord. When he had seen everything, he withdrew from her mind and staggered back, Benson following suit a moment later.

He stared at her, completely in shock. The more he processed what he saw, the more horrified his expression became and he looked worriedly at Harry. After an exchange of nods, he looked back at her with disappointment and anger plain as day on his face. "I have no choice but to place you under arrest, Hermione. What you've done is a violation of not only several moral codes, but laws as well. He is a prisoner of war and volunteering to stay here with him made you his ward. And planning to run away is treason."

Harry did look at her then and all she could do was hang her head as she wept. She had seen Harry be betrayed before; knew how hard each loss of a loved one affected him. She just never thought she would be on the receiving end of that look or be the one to cause him that kind of pain.

"Mister Riddle let me in this time," Benson said, a touch of surprise coloring his voice. "I can attest to the fact that he does remember nearly everything and that he has for some time. It is unclear if Miss Granger helped cover anything up at that point."

"When word of this spreads…" Kingsley began, shaking his head at her.

"You just threw everything away, Hermione," Harry croaked. "Everything for the likes of him. Your future is ruined. Everything you could have achieved; that you fought so hard to defend is gone." He swallowed hard and the pause made her look back up at him. "I hope it was worth it."

"Given the situation, it is unwise to leave either of them here, but I fear having his presence in Azkaban or the Ministry might cause a riot. Especially if this ever gets out," Benson said, turning to Kingsley. "What should we do, Minister?"

Kingsley looked around at everyone, saving Harry for last. "It's your call, Harry."

"What about a trial?" he asked. "For her."

Hermione winced at the chill in his voice. "Having a trial would mean the entire wizarding world would know what happened. Her name, the Ministry, even you would experience quite the fallout." He took a deep breath as he contemplated. "That is something I can't risk. Everything we've been building to achieve would crumble and we would be risking another civil war on our hands." He shook his head. "We'll do whatever you decide, Harry."

He looked at her again and Hermione recognized the flicker in his emerald eyes as the one he always got when he made up his mind about something. "Her go-to is to Obliviate, so we should take a page from her book." Tears of anger sprang to his eyes as ones of heartache filled hers. "We'll do it now and we'll just continue the rouse that she went to find her parents. We'll relocate them soon and chalk her disappearance up to her being unable to cope."

_Now. Now. Now._

That word was stuck on a never ending loop inside her mind. She trembled and looked across the way, her eyes locking with Riddle's. His eyes were wide as he struggled in his bonds as if in an attempt to reach her, but neither of them were going anywhere. Tears flowed freely as she tried to communicate with her eyes; to tell him how she really felt, wishing she had been able to tell him before. But now, as Unspeakable Benson raised his wand at her, she realized with a sickening ache to her soul, she would never get to say it at all.

And like a tunnel with the light at the end getting farther and farther away, Hermione's vision darkened. The last thing she remembered was the sensation of falling, but whether or not she hit the ground was something she never discovered.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind words and for taking time out of your day to read this! I hope this ending was to your liking :)

**NINE**

It didn't matter what holiday it was, they were always hard to deal with when you were spending them alone. But it was Christmas and New Years that always made her ache for something she could never put her finger on.

This year, Harmony was determined to do something other than wallow at home. She had stared a new job a few months prior, one that threw a charity gala every year at an art gallery every New Year's Eve. She knew part of her desire to get out of the house was the fact that working it was a requirement, but the other part of her was looking forward to feeling less alone. Maybe a room full of snobs spending their fortunes for a good cause was exactly what she had been missing all along.

As someone relatively new to the world of art history, she was still a bit fuzzy on what was what, but she was learning. Her job was mostly about making sure that when someone was ready to buy, she lined with up with one of the brokers. At first she had been nervous that filtering through the crowd listening for key words was going to be difficult, but as it turned out, those that wanted to buy were straightforward. Soon the hardest part was finding a broker who was free before a potential buyer lost interest.

And in one such mission for a broker, Harmony tried to avoid an accidental collision with a server only to find herself falling into the arms of a guest. Strong arms held her up, steadying her before they could tumble to the ground. No longer swaying on her feet, she looked up, her eyes locking with his dark grey gaze. A spark of familiarity tugged at her heart and for a moment, she couldn't breathe.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, giving him a smile.

He inclined his head and continued to stare at her, the look in his eyes sizing her up to make sure she was real. "It was a mistake. I'll survive."

"Thank you," she said, clearing her throat. She lingered there for another moment before she heard someone call her name. With a second nod and a wider smile, she pulled herself away from him and went back to tracking down the broker.

After escorting them to the buyers, she looked around for her boss, finding him with his wife laughing with the owners of the gallery. As she approached, he pulled her into the conversation, but Harmony barely heard a word of what was said as her thoughts were still stuck on the man she'd crashed into. By the time she'd gotten around to ask her boss what she had come over for, it was time for her break. Seeking the quietest spot in the gallery, she hugged the champagne flute to her chest and stared out the windows, looking at the lights of the city beyond.

"I was hoping to run into you."

Harmony turned her head at the voice and did a double take at the sight of the man with grey eyes. She smiled at him, taking in the sight of his short brown waves and pale skin. She couldn't shake the familiarity she felt by seeing him, but it felt right. Her eyes slowly tracked down his chest until they settled on the dessert plates in his hands. "Did you intend to eat both of those by yourself?" she teased.

The smile he gave her made butterflies flutter in her stomach. "I saw you come in here actually. I was hoping you liked vanilla."

She laughed and took the plate he offered her. "I do, actually. Always preferred it over chocolate."

She set her flute down on the sill of the window and dug into the slice of cake. She had nearly forgotten the dessert table set up in one of the other rooms. Running around all night had almost made her miss out on her tradition of having cake on New Year's Eve. Most people wanted to get drunk and get a kiss at midnight, but she wanted to eat cake.

Even if their conversation was a bit on the awkward side, she was glad to finally share her holiday quirk with someone this year.

The way he reacted to her name made her huff slightly. Most people thought she was lying at first when she told them. She always said it wasn't that uncommon despite the fact that she didn't believe it herself. And when he told her his name was Tom, she felt that flutter in her stomach again.

It was a few minutes before her break was over that she couldn't keep the question that was bothering her in anymore. "Do I know you?" she asked.

There was a flicker of hope and surprise in his eyes, but it disappeared so fast she thought she was making it up. "We've only just met," he assured her.

She sighed as she tried to accept it, but found that she couldn't. "It just feels like we've met before. I swear you look so familiar."

"I've been told I have one of those faces."

She hummed and checked the time on her phone. With another sigh she looked up at him. "Thank you for the cake, Tom."

"Anything for you, Harmony."

Her heart raced as he reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. It was as if time had stood still and she shivered when he let go. She didn't say anything as she stepped away from him and returned to work.

She didn't see him again for the rest of the night. At least not until midnight was less than a minute away. Somewhere in the gallery loft, the countdown had been turned on and she could hear the rush of the crowd as the excitement began to build. Shying away from everyone so no one would pull her in for an uninvited lip lock, Harmony found herself face-to-face with Tom again.

He didn't wait the ten seconds that were left to pull her close and steal her breath by pressing his lips to hers. A fire sprang to life inside of her as she kissed him back with equal fervor. Even as the crowd erupted into cheers, fireworks exploding in the distance outside, Harmony clung to him with no intention of letting go. Soon, the cheering of the crowd died away and only when the fire spread to her lungs as they screamed for air did she tear herself away.

She stared at him; her vision spotting as a headache blossomed at the forefront of her mind. "Tom?" she breathed, her heart beating a mile a minute while she tried to catch her breath. But the longer she stared at him, the harder it was to do that. Her hand pressed to her chest as nausea crept up her throat.

And then they were moving. His hand was firm as it held hers, clearing a path towards the exit. She didn't even try to stop him, the need for fresh air consuming her thoughts. He led her down the stairs instead of waiting for the lift and once they stepped out into the cool night air through a side door, she leaned against the wall and inhaled her first real breath.

The headache became worse, almost to the point of unbearable, but Tom was there, holding her hand and telling her that everything was going to be okay. She should have questioned the fact that he was a stranger, but the effect he had on her was overwhelming. And as the pain grew to be too much, he was there to catch her for the second time that day. She barely heard his whisper of, "I've got you. You're safe with me."

And as she closed her eyes, she believed him completely.

* * *

Hermione woke with a start, flying into a sitting position so fast her head spun. She regretted opening her eyes instantly, the pain shooting through her head making her wonder if she hadn't fallen and hit something on the way down. At least the glimpse she had been able to take revealed that she was in her flat.

She laid back down as carefully and remained as still as possible until the pain began to subside and the nausea went away. Once she was sure she could open her eyes again so long as she took it slow, she did just that. Only to discover that she wasn't alone. That there was a man leaning against the frame of her door.

Her mouth opened to scream, but as she took in the sight of him, recognition brought tears to her eyes and she sat up despite the pain. He was at her side, drawing her to him in no time at all. She flung her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist when he lifted her off her feet.

"Is this real?" she asked, choking on a sob.

"It's real. I'm here."

She hissed as the pounding in her head resurfaced with a vengeance. She whined as he lowered her onto the bed. After assuring her he wasn't going anywhere, she let go and settled back among the pillows. She heard him removing anything that would be uncomfortable to lie down in and then she felt the bed dip beside her. He carefully gathered her into his arms and drew her over his lap, holding her like he used to on the couch.

"We can talk later. Just know that this isn't a dream. Once the headache stops, I'll tell you everything."

She gave a slight nod and relaxed into him, holding on as if she were going to wake up and have it all be a lie. But as the hours ticked by and the sun began to peek around the curtains, Hermione knew it was real. In the time it took for the headache to subside, her mind had to blend her two pasts together; the one that was hers until the day Harry caught them at the safe house and the one that belonged to Harmony, the identity Harry and created for her.

She still had a lot to sort out, but accepting that both were her, but her life as Harmony was fabricated made her headache considerably more tolerable. "I thought they would have killed you," she breathed.

"They wanted to," he said right away, his hand stroking up and down her back. "After they took your memories, Unspeakable Benson aimed his wand at me, but Harry stopped him." Hermione's breath caught at that. "He told me that I deserved death, but now that it was something I wanted, he didn't want me to have it. So he had Benson take my memories too."

"How is that we remember?" she asked, thinking of her parents, wondering if they ever recovered their memories.

"From everything I have researched, Obliviation is irreversible, but I once learned a lesson that there are some forces of nature that are far more powerful than the magic we wield through a wand."

Hermione pulled back to look at him, a puzzled expression pulling at her features.

"It was a lesson I learned on All Hallows Eve in the year nineteen-eighty-one, but didn't understand until the year nineteen-ninety-eight." When her expression remained pinched, he traced her bottom lip with his thumb. "Love, Hermione."

She heard her breath hitch as she stared at him.

"I don't deserve that from anyone, least of all you, but you went and gave it to me anyway. I heard you screaming it at me with your mind that day and since my memories have returned, I hear it all the time." His smile was soft as he continued to touch her with soft caresses anywhere he could reach. "I know they say those conceived under the use of Amortentia renders one incapable of love, but I don't think that's true. Not once I met you."

Hermione swallowed hard, afraid to move lest she blink and it turned out to be a dream after all.

"After doing some research, I've come to the conclusion that those that made that assumption all knew they were conceived by such methods. Knowing that they were born of false love can put a chip on anyone's shoulder and skew them towards the darkness." His hand shook lightly as it cupped her face again. "But you have this light inside of you that burned so bright, you chased all my darkness away."

The whine that left her lips was far from human as she shifted in his lap so she could claim his lips. She kissed him with all the passion she had held back on previously. Kissed him with every fiber of her being until all the years she had spent in lonely solitude became filled with the knowledge that he loved her.

"I've been looking for you for three years," he panted when he broke the kiss to breathe. "It took two just to learn the name you'd been given."

"Why not use magic?" she asked, a small part of her hurt at all the years they could have had together if he hadn't searched for her the Muggle way.

"Because if they knew I remembered, they would have come for me and it would have set me back in finding you," he said, placing her hand over his heart. "Because the person I became under your care didn't have magic and I don't need it now. Magic was great, but all it did was make me crave power. That isn't something I want anymore and I don't want revenge either. I just want you." He brought her hand up to kiss her knuckles. "I love you, Hermione."

"I love you too, Tom," she whispered back.

And neither one of them left her bed until both of them were done making up for lost time.

* * *

As Hermione and Tom stepped out of the coffee shop into the crisp autumn air, she linked their hands together, enjoying the way the silver band around his finger felt against hers. She glanced down at her own ring and smiled at the way the diamonds sparkled in the early morning light. Even for being relatively new to her everyday fashion, she had grown accustomed to seeing it on her finger. She hadn't even realized it was something she had been missing until he had placed it there while exchanging their vows.

As they waited for the light at the cross walk to change, Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She looked around until her eyes landed on none other than Harry. He was watching them from across the way. She tightened her hold on Tom, bracing herself for Harry to swoop in and tear them apart. She had always known this day would come, but now that it was here, she felt sick to her stomach.

But instead of doing anything she'd thought about as the worst case scenario, he simply observed the two of them until he tipped his head at her and gave her faintest of smiles. She returned it with wide eyes and watched as he turned and disapparated on the spot.

"Hermione?"

Her attention snapped back to Tom who was looking around for her distraction. She waved him off and took a step towards the crosswalk as the light changed. "It's nothing, continue your story."

Hermione smiled as she leaned against Tom and when she inhaled again, it truly felt like a breath of fresh air. And for the first time in her life, she knew everything was going to be okay. That neither of them were no longer prisoners of war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is definitely more Tomione in my to be written list so if you liked this, make sure to subscribe for future stories! Or come on over and join my FB group at madrose_writing so you'll always know what's coming!


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